‘I should have told you before.’ Gingerly, she took the bundle of envelopes from her jacket and handed them over. ‘Before I came here this evening I wasn’t sure what I was going to find, but now I’m pretty certain that both Rebecca and Jodie are victims of identity theft. ’ She gave him the bare bones of the story, telling him that girls using the students’ names were suspected of having smuggled drugs into prisons. She didn’t mention the poisonings or the location of the prisons involved. She had a good reason for holding information back: whoever had stolen those identities would need to have the confidence to be able to blend in and return to the lobby time and time again to check for mail. That person was either going to be a student or someone else closely connected with the hall of residence. She glanced at the young man standing in front of her. It could be him. Just because he was being so co-operative didn’t mean he wasn’t implicated in some way. In fact his very willingness to assist might disguise an involvement. She had to be careful not to give too much away.
‘Well, I’m truly shocked.’ Dr. Dunn raked his fingers through his hair, disturbing its slicked-back elegance. ‘These are very serious allegations. Do you think other students could be at risk?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she shrugged, ‘but what I’m wondering is whether one of the students has actually perpetrated this. Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously? Possibly someone loitering around reception when the post is normally delivered.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen anyone. I will ask the porters – they’re more likely to have seen anything like that. I have to say, though, we have tightened our security a lot in the last couple of months. We’ve had quite a number of thefts of laptops from the bedrooms, so we’ve been much more vigilant about people coming in and out of the building.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got CCTV?’ Delva piped up.
‘Unfortunately not.’ He gave a small sigh. ‘It’s something I’ve been nagging the Director of Estates about, but as you know, Dr Rhys, university finances are very tight at the moment.’
There was something about his voice, Megan thought. That honeyed tone never varied, even when he was talking about something negative. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let me know what the porters say, won’t you?’ She reached into her bag, pulling out a card with the institutional logo on it. ‘That’s got my mobile number on it.’ She handed the card to him.
‘I’ll get onto it straight away,’ he replied, tucking the card into the pocket of his crisply ironed chinos. ‘The porters aren’t all on duty over the weekend, so it might be Monday before I’m able to give you the full picture.’
‘Just one other thing before we go,’ she said. ‘Could I have the contact details for Rebecca Jordan’s family? I’d like to make absolutely sure that she wasn’t involved in this; that she really is travelling overseas.’
‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘You might as well take this, actually.’ He handed her the sheet of paper he’d printed off the computer. ‘Her home address and telephone number are at the bottom.’
‘Thanks.’ She shook his hand. ‘It was nice to meet you, David. I’m sorry it was in such unfortunate circumstances.’ She held his gaze for a moment, watching for a flicker in his eyes. Her years of interviewing prisoners had taught her to recognise the signs. She could usually tell when something was being held back. But he simply smiled back her, his eyes unblinking.
As she left the building Megan was acutely aware that any of the young people lounging on the steps could be tied up in all of this. How on earth could she make any headway with so many potential suspects? Of course, the letter purporting to be from Jodie Shepherd might yield fingerprints – she must get that checked out. But that would also mean fingerprinting the entire hall of residence. How was that going to go down with the university authorities?
She and Delva mulled this over in Megan’s favourite Thai restaurant on the Bristol Road. ‘What do you think’s behind it all?’ Delva asked, dipping a corner of prawn toast into a pool of sweet chilli sauce. ‘I mean, is it the Irish connection? Is it drug smuggling? Or is it just plain revenge for a very old murder? It’s all getting so complicated, isn’t it?’
‘I know.’ Megan slid a chunk of chicken satay off its wooden skewer. ‘In all the other cases I’ve worked on the options have closed down the further in you get. But this time it’s almost the opposite: there are so many possibilities it’s hard to know what to focus on. I suppose there’s no more news on Ron Smith, is there?’
Delva shook her head. ‘I’m hoping there might be by tomorrow, though. Tim said he was going to pay his parents a visit tonight – he didn’t tell me before but it turns out his dad was in the force during the period when the Birmingham Six were arrested.’
‘What? You mean Tim’s dad was in the Serious Crime Squad?’
‘No, nothing like that, just a lowly PC, according to Tim. But he would have heard the talk going round at the time. Tim reckons he might be able to throw some light on it.’
‘Good.’ Megan nodded as the waiter brought two bottles of Tiger beer.
‘What did you think of that bloke in the hall of residence?’ Delva said when the waiter had gone. ‘Bit smarmy, wasn’t he?’
‘I suppose he was a bit full of himself,’ Megan nodded. ‘But he’s very well thought of in academic circles.’
‘You didn’t like him, though, did you?’ Delva grimaced.
‘He was very helpful.’ She lifted her glass and took a good mouthful of beer. ‘But let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind about him.’ From somewhere in the depths of her bag she heard the trill of her mobile phone. ‘Sorry,’ she hissed, as she bent down to locate it, ‘I’d better get it – it might be him.’
But it wasn’t David Dunn, it was Dom Wilde, calling from the prison with his phonecard. ‘I haven’t got much juice left on this,’ he said. ‘Just wanted to know how you got on at Strangeways.’
The sound of his voice had the usual effect on her insides. She felt as if the lump of chicken she had just swallowed had got stuck on its way to her stomach. She coughed with her hand over the phone, glancing around at the other diners. It was a few seconds before she gave him a reply. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m in a restaurant. Can’t go into detail, really: it was the same as Carl, though. I’ll come in first thing Monday, okay?’
‘Don’t worry. I understand. Take care, Meg, won’t you?’
‘Bye Dom. You take care too.’
‘Who was it?’ Delva eyed her curiously.
‘One of the prisoners from Balsall Gate,’ Megan could feel herself blushing. She hadn’t meant to say his name. If she tried to be evasive Delva was bound to guess she was hiding something. ‘He’s what they call a Listener,’ she said, concentrating hard on prising another piece of chicken off the skewer. ‘He counsels other inmates when they’re having problems. He spent a lot of time with Carl Kelly. It was through him I found out about the Strangeways case.’
‘And his name’s Dom? Not Dom Wilde?’
Megan was taken by surprise, the chunk of meat halfway between the plate and her mouth. ‘How did you know?’
‘He’s the inmate our researcher’s been visiting,’ Delva replied. ‘She went to see him yesterday, actually. She was quite taken with him, I think, but she said he wasn’t very forthcoming about Carl Kelly.’
‘Oh?’ So that was who she’d seen in the visiting room talking so intimately with him. ‘What’s you researcher’s name?’
‘Natalie. Natalie Steadman.’
Suddenly Megan was on the defensive: ‘Why should he have told her anything? He probably saw straight through her. He’s a bright man.’ She could feel the blush spreading from her face to her chest. Delva’s eyebrows lifted an inch. Realising that she was giving herself away, Megan tried to backtrack. ‘I’m just worried that if one of your people rubs him up the wrong way it might blow things for me,’ she said. ‘I’ve invested a lot of time in gaining his trust.’
‘But you know that�
�s putting me in a very difficult position.’ Delva was looking directly at her. ‘I don’t have the power to pull someone off a documentary – even if I thought it was the right thing to do.’
‘Couldn’t you just have a quiet word with her though? Ask her to take things easy for a while until we’ve worked out where all this is going?’
‘I suppose so.’ Delva held her gaze. ‘Meg, is there something you’re not telling me about this guy?’
Megan felt her face burning under this close scrutiny. It was as if Delva was reading her mind. How could she justify her feelings for Dominic? How could she explain that the idea of some girl a dozen years her junior getting close to him had her seething with jealousy? It would sound ridiculous. Delva would be incredulous. No – she couldn’t possibly tell her. Not ever.
Megan had a disturbed night. She woke at least twice while it was still dark, her mind fogged with half-remembered dreams. The only one she could properly recall was about a baby. A woman she didn’t recognise had brought it to her in a cardboard box. It was sitting up on a pale blue blanket and all she could see at first was the back of its head. Then, when the box was turned round, the baby reached up to her and she saw that it had no arms, just hands attached to the sides of its body. She lifted the child out and it buried its face in her neck. The woman said: “You have him. I don’t want him.”
Megan thought about the dream as she sat in bed sipping a mug of tea. Fairly obvious what had prompted it: the baby found in the Nike box in Moses Smith’s grave. And then there had been Ronnie’s news: a baby that she would no doubt see quite regularly over the years to come; whose development she would watch with more than a twinge of envy. She wondered if her subconscious was trying to give her a message; that if she couldn’t have a baby of her own she should think about adopting one.
With a big sigh she threw back the duvet and swung her legs out of the bed. This was no time to be thinking about babies or the lack of them: she had work to do. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table she saw that it was only eight-fifteen. Too early to make that phone call to Rebecca Jordan’s parents. Time for some breakfast first. Her stomach was rumbling despite last night’s Thai feast, but when she opened the fridge, all she found was a withered piece of ginger and a yoghurt that was past its sell-by date. God, she thought, I can’t even look after myself properly, let alone a baby.
She’d planned to have a bath and wash her hair before getting dressed but she was too hungry for that. Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt she headed for the car. There was a corner shop in the next street but if she went there she’d end up buying a load of stodge. If she was going to be serious about losing weight she needed to stock up on some healthy stuff.
Her car was parked right outside the house. For once there had been a space just big enough for her Mazda MX5 when she had arrived back from dropping Delva off last night. The car was a new toy, purchased only two months ago as a birthday present to herself, so it came as something of a shock when she turned the key in the ignition and the engine died. Several more attempts at turning the engine failed. ‘Sod it!’ She brought the palm of her hand down hard on the steering wheel. She scanned the dashboard, wondering if she’d accidentally touched something she shouldn’t have. But it all appeared normal. She got up and stood in the road, looking for anything obvious that might be wrong with it. But again, everything looked to be in its proper place. There was no point trying to push-start it: she’d never get it out of the tight space it was parked in. There was no option but to call the AA.
She was promised a quick response: an estimate of thirty to forty minutes. Enough time for her to do something constructive. Returning to the house she decided to try the Jordans’ number while watching through the window for the recovery man.
The conversation with Rebecca’s mother was brief: yes, she was travelling in Australia at the moment, working in a bar near Bondi Beach. She’d been away since November and no, she hadn’t been in the UK since that time. No doubt, then, Megan thought as she replaced the receiver. Both Rebecca and Jodie had been used as a cover. She wondered if Carl Kelly and Patrick Ryan had been murdered by the same person: one woman posing as both of the students. She needed a good description of the two visitors. She would quiz Dominic tomorrow but she needed Ronnie on the case as well.
Rather than disturb her friend on a Sunday morning, she decided to wing off an email. The laptop was in its case in the hall and she glanced out of the window before darting to retrieve it. She perched on the arm of a chair as she tapped out the message, her stomach complaining loudly about the lack of food inside it.
The AA man arrived just as she clicked the computer shut. Fifteen minutes later, having checked all the obvious potential causes, he stood in the road rubbing his fingers on a rag, no nearer to finding the source of the trouble.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?’ Megan offered.
‘I’d love a coffee, please – milk, no sugar,’ he replied. ‘They’re normally quite straightforward, Mazdas, but this one’s got me stumped.’ Walking to the rear of the car he dropped to a squatting position. ‘I’ll just see if there’s anything leaking out of the exhaust.’
‘Okay.’ She let herself back through the gate, wondering if she might be able to find anything in the house to go with the coffee. She hadn’t expected it to take this long – she was now so hungry she was starting to get the shakes. Searching the kitchen cupboards for anything resembling a biscuit, she spotted what looked like a packet of Jaffa Cakes wedged between a bottle of olive oil and a bag of brown sugar. Gleeful at the prospect of some nourishment, she grabbed it.
‘Shit!’ she hissed. It was empty. Emily must have scoffed them all on her last visit. Her four-year-old niece had the appetite of a baby elephant. Why did kids always put things back in cupboards and fridges when they were empty?
The kettle boiled and she spooned coffee into mugs, salivating at the smell of it. She put the mugs on a tray, balancing it on the palm of her left hand as she turned the catch on the front door with her right. What she saw when the door opened almost made her drop the lot.
Chapter 18
The rescue man was standing right outside the door with something dangling from his hand. She couldn’t make out what it was but she could smell it over the oil that caked his fingers. It was something dead and rotting and it turned her stomach.
‘You been rallying recently?’ he said.
‘What? Her eyes flicked up from the dark object hanging at his side. She looked at him, bemused. ‘No… I… of course I haven’t… What is that? What have you found?’
Slowly and deliberately, he lifted his hand so that the object was directly in her view.
‘Ugh!’ she took a step back. ‘It’s a dead rat!’
‘Not a rat, no,’ he replied. ‘I’m no expert, mind, but I can see that it’s got no tail, so in my book, that makes it a mole.’
‘A mole? Where did you find it?’
‘Rammed up your exhaust pipe.’
‘How the hell did it get there?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, they’re not known for their athletic qualities, aren’t moles, so unless this one’s been crossed with a flying squirrel, I’d say someone’s shoved it up there.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘You got any in your garden? Neighbours can get very narked about that kind of thing.’ He smiled at her blank face. ‘Don’t worry – it won’t have caused any lasting damage to the engine. It should start first time. Want to give it a try?’
Megan followed him through the gate on automatic pilot.Her eyes were fixed on the dead creature swaying in time with his steps. Her back garden was walled and gravelled, like most of the neighbours’ gardens. Other than the odd cat, she had never seen anything vaguely resembling a mammal out there. This could be no coincidence. Alistair Hodge had told her that a mole was the one and only animal in this country still being controlled with strychnine. Was someone trying to warn her off?
She sat behind the wheel, her limbs heavy a
nd numb. The engine purred into action. The AA man brought her something on a clipboard and she signed it with a mumbled word of thanks.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Oh, er, fine,’ she said. ‘Just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘I’ll take this away with me, then, shall I?’ The snout was protruding from the top pocket of his overalls.
‘Yes. Yes, please.’ She watched him retreat in the wing mirror. When he’d driven off she ran into the house and slumped on the sofa. She no longer felt hungry – just sick. Someone had watched her; followed her car. While she was asleep last night that someone had been outside her house stuffing that thing into her exhaust pipe. She thought of the hall of residence: the last place she had been yesterday. It would have been so easy to tail her from there. Or perhaps her address had been traced through some other means. Either way, someone very dangerous knew exactly where she lived. Suddenly she thought of Nathan MacNamara. He knew where she lived. What if he’d been blabbing about it? He didn’t live in Linden House but he might hang around with people who did… ‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, burying her face in her hands.
She wished there was someone else in the house with her; not just to make her feel safer but to help her make sense of this increasingly complex web of evidence. She thought about Dominic. He had a good ear and a good mind – the sort of person that could be relied on in a crisis. It seemed ridiculous that he was banged up in jail on the other side of the city when he no longer posed any threat to society. She closed her eyes in an attempt to conjure up his soothing presence. Was it so crazy to imagine him sitting beside her in this room? In a year or so he’d be out. It was not unknown for women – professional women – to form lasting relationships with prison inmates they had met through their work: she had heard of one or two such cases over the years. It was possible; anything was possible. Whether or not it was sensible no longer seemed important.
She was snatched back to reality by the shrill notes of her home telephone. She ran into the hall to pick it up, then hesitated, worried about who might be on the other end. What if it was the person who’d interfered with her car? After five rings the answering machine cut in. She held her breath, waiting to see if there would be a message.
The Killer Inside Page 14
